


Dreams With a Bowl Of Soup

by AuroraCloud



Category: Wayfarers Series - Becky Chambers
Genre: Alien Character(s), Alien Cultural Differences, Beginnings, Brief appearance by Sissix, Canon Backstory, Developing Friendships, Food, Friendship, Gen, Interspecies, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 11:06:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraCloud/pseuds/AuroraCloud
Summary: While getting an imubot upgrade at Port Coriol, Ashby Santoso shares conversation and soup with a Grum who works at the clinic.The story of how Dr. Chef came to join the crew ofThe Wayfarer.





	Dreams With a Bowl Of Soup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luckybarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckybarton/gifts).



> Based on the backstory Dr. Chef tells Rosemary in _Long Way To a Small and Angry Planet_. For those who don't remember, Drave is named in the book as the local doctor that Dr. Chef practiced with on Port Coriol.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta-readers!

Where had Ashby seen that person before? There was no way he could forget the unusual gray-speckled, six-limbed being behind the clinic’s serving desk, but he wasn’t sure where he knew him from.

The being opened its mouth, and Ashby knew where he had heard that choral-like voice. ”How may I help you?” 

”Did you have a soup booth?” Ashby asked, then realized something. ”No, wait, it must have been another of your kind. Ze looked different. I’m sorry.” Stars, he didn’t want to offend this being by mixing zir up with another of the same species. It was the crassest of manners and would verify all the stereotypes about humans, still considered so new to the Galactic Commons.

The creature let out a strange rumble, and zir cheek puffs vibrated, while the split upper lip widened to a sort of a grin. ”I’m the only one of my kind on Coriol. But I understand why you would be confused. When I had the soup booth, I was still female. I am now male. This change happens to one of my kind once our egg-laying years are over.”

”Oh, I see.” It was unusual, but after all that Ashby had learned about the nuances of Aeluon genders, he didn’t find it surprising. The variety that the universe kept throwing at you was fascinating, and he only tried not to stare too curiously at the alien. 

”I take it you didn’t come to the clinic to talk about my soup booth?” the person said with that unusual voice of his.

”Er, no, I’m sorry.”

The person must have picked up on his discomfort, for he said, ”No offense taken. Very few people have seen a Grum. How may we help you?”

Interesting. He had never heard of a Grum before. ”I came to have my imubots upgraded.”

The Grum looked at his screen. ”There is an empty slot in a little under an hour. Shall I sign you on it?”

”Yes, please. I’m glad to hear it can be done today. I’m sorry I haven’t booked in advance, but my ship only arrived in the port last night.”

”We are used to spacers here. It’s no problem. Your name, sir, if you please?”

”Santoso, Ashby Santoso.”

”Nice to meet you, Ashby Santoso.” It was like being addressed by a whole choir of voices. Beautiful. ”Yes, I can find your previous file here. I am called Dr. Chef.”

Now he remembered the booth had been called ”Chef’s soups”. ”You are a doctor as well?”

”I am only in training. But I was a doctor on my world. I rather need retraining, though. The requirements of being a doctor were a little different there… But Drave is kind enough to call me Dr. Chef already.” Dr. Chef typed in some characters on the screen in front of him, then said: ”There, I have put you on the schedule. Do you wish to wait here, or come back at the time of your appointment?”

”If it’s no trouble, I’d rather stay here.”

”Good,” Dr. Chef said, with another rumble that Ashby suspected must be the Grum version of a chuckle. ”Many visitors become lost on the streets of Port Coriol, lured in by yet another shop, and another, and miss their appointment. It is no trouble at all. As it happens, I have brought in soup today. Would you like to share a bowl with me? I was just about to have lunch, and I would gladly share with a traveller.”

Ashby bowed his head. ”If you wish so, I would gladly join you.” He was slightly worried he would take advantage of the hospitality because of his desire to get to know Dr. Chef better and learn about his origin, but he also knew not to refuse an offer of food without knowing about the customs of the offerer’s culture.

The Grum let out a sing-song warble, sounding satisfied. ”That is wonderful.”

 

 

The soup was both nourishing and delicious, combining ingredients and spices in a downright genius way. The conversation, in turn, was fascinating. Dr. Chef told Ashby that he had six sets of vocal cords, which was why his voice sounded so unusual. He demonstrated their use in his own language — a truly musical experience. He also said that the reason he called himself by the name of his professions was that his name took about a minute to say, and required the said six sets of vocal cords. ”Sadly, that doesn’t work for most people you meet at Port Coriol,” he said, and let out a series of rumbles that Ashby interpreted as laughter.

Dr. Chef, in turn, was interested in Ashby’s travels in space. So Ashby told him of his work aboard a tunneling ship, answering Dr. Chef’s fascinated questions the best he could. The Grum seemed particularly fascinated by the daily life details: how they managed their food sources in space, the conditions required by the algae and how that affected the crew, the need to spend time in nature sims in order to keep their minds healthy.

The gardens aboard the ship fascinated him. ”I love gardens. There’s something beautiful about gardens on space ships, isn’t there? When people travel in space, even the life-long spacers, they take a little piece of planet and nature with them through the ship’s garden. We are all rooted in earth, even those of us who sail the depths of skies.” He let out a long, thoughtful warble, then said: ”I have quite a challenging time making any of the plants from my home planet grow here on Coriol. How much more difficult it must be to grow planetside plants in space, with artificial gravity and light! And how much more rewarding when it succeeds. Being able to sustain life in the open is no small feat.”

”I did an internship in gardening in the Fleet when I was a boy,” Ashby said. ”But I’m afraid I never got as deeply into it as you evidently have.”

”Oh, tell me about your life in the Exodus fleet!” Dr. Chef leaned forward in interest. ”It’s such a fascinating community, I think, especially now that humans are able to have planets again but still choose to keep up the Fleet. I never tire of hearing about it.”

Ashby was enjoying the conversation so much that when it came time for his upgrade, he felt downright disappointed. But on the upside, he would now see his new friend work.

 

 

Ashby watched Dr. Chef as he assisted Drave in the upgrade. The Grum was surprisingly dextrous operating the scanner and the bot keys. He listened carefully to Drave’s instructions and seemed to understand the needed actions quickly. But equally importantly, he did his job in a manner exuding caring and respect towards both Ashby and his colleague and, Ashby thought, towards the work itself. Ashby felt safe and comfortable. He could only imagine how comforting it would be trust this man in times of threatening illness or difficult operation.

When the upgrade was over, he thanked Drave and Dr. Chef, and specifically told his observations to the Grum.

Dr. Chef’s cheek puffs moved in a new manner that Ashby couldn’t parse together. ”Thank you,” he said, his choral-like voice warbling unusually much between tones. ”You do not know what that means to me.” Perhaps he was feeling moved.

”I think you make a wonderful doctor,” Ashby said. ”Your own people must have been fortunate to have you take care of them. Is it very different working here?”

He could tell immediately that he had misspoken somehow. A look crossed on Drave’s face, and Dr. Chef’s cheek puffs stopped moving. ”It is very different,” Dr. Chef said, but his voice sounded odd, like all of his sets of vocal cords weren’t saying the same thing. There was a tiny ripple through his cheek puffs. ”Pardon me, I need to clean the equipment before the next patient comes in.” He moved away, still making strange sounds.

Ashby looked at Drave, who was busying himself with his scrib. ”Did I say something wrong?”

”Not as such, but it’s… I don’t think he knew how to respond. It’s not an easy topic,” Drave said, looking uncomfortable. ”It’s not my story to tell.”

Ashby internally smacked himself on the head for making too many assumptions, forgetting to find out the background culture before saying too much. He’d have to do better if he was going to captain his own ship. ”Can you please ask him to come and talk to me before I leave, if he feels up for it?”

”I’m sure he will do it even without my prompting,” said Drave kindly. ”Just go back to the waiting room. As far as I can tell, he wasn’t storming out in emotion, as humans might. I think he just needs a moment to himself. And we do need to get the equipment cleaned.”

 

 

Some minutes later, Dr. Chef came to Ashby in the waiting room. ”My apologies for my abrupt withdrawal,” he said. ”I understood a little too late how it must have come across to you.”

”No, I’m sorry,” Ashby said at once. ”It was insensitive of me to…”

”Oh, you did nothing wrong, and I don’t wish to give you that impression. My species has a slightly different relationship to emotions than yours does, and most of the time, we can access and leave emotions at will. But the topic is a subject of very difficult feelings, which I’m not yet as comfortable with as I will be in time. Conjuring up those feelings in that situation wasn’t right. I needed a moment to sort out how to answer your question. I can answer you now.”

”You needn’t do that, if you’re uncomfortable doing so,” Ashby hastened to say. ”I don’t wish to pry.”

”I’m not uncomfortable,” the Grum said, and his cheek puffs moved again in a smile. ”It’s a part of our history, though a particularly unsavoury part, not appropriate for professional situations of a patient and a doctor. But if you want to hear the story nevertheless, I can tell you.”

”Please,” Ashby said. ”I would like to understand your species.”

”There aren’t many of us left, so few people know our story, and even fewer know how it has affected me particularly, in my work as a doctor.”

Dr. Chef then proceeded to tell the story of his nation, their never-ceasing war, and his job as a doctor whose only task was to make people fit to fight again and decide which ones were too badly wounded to attempt saving. He told of the most horrible weapons they had created, and how he had discovered his own side had invented them, and the death of his own daughter to those weapons in front of his eyes. And he told how his people had finally understood the futility of their war, too late.

Ashby listened, both horrified and understanding. Human history had too many stories in a similar vein for him to feel anything but deepest sympathy. _It could have been us,_ he thought. 

”I do stand by the sentiment I wanted to express,” he said at last, when Dr. Chef had quietened. ”You would have been a wonderful doctor on your home world, had your world offered an opportunity for you to be a real doctor. My own species nearly destroyed itself the same way yours did, so I can sympathize, though I know it doesn’t help much. We Humans only happened to be lucky enough to have been given a second chance to do better.”

”I’m glad of it,” Dr. Chef said. ”I’m glad you got that chance before you had destroyed yourselves but when you had learned the lesson. It gives me hope. Just like stepping onto a spaceship for the first time, to leave my world behind, gave me hope of a new chance.”

”I’m glad you’ve been given that,” Ashby said.

”This life here on Coriol has given me an opportunity to get to know well those other species which have found less destructive ways of living.” His cheek puffs moved again. ”I’ve been able to be a chef and learn the wonders of herbs, and now I can become a real doctor.” He stopped speaking, but continued humming. Finally he said: ”I’ve learned to dream again.”

”Do you ever wish to travel in space more?” Ashby asked. ”Or have you found your place here?”

”I never want to say that I have arrived, for my destination may well lie behind the next turn of the road,” Dr. Chef mused. ”I think I’d enjoy travelling. But I don’t know how many spaceships can use an old Grum like me, hm.” He gave that long rumble which meant laughter.

Ashby didn’t say anything, but he was beginning to have an idea.

 

 

After he left the clinic, he thought long and hard about it. He talked to Sissix, who was immediately enthused by the idea. She’d have gone to meet Dr. Chef straight away if Ashby hadn’t all but forced her not to. 

”I think you need this,” Sissix said. ”You’re finally in a good mood, and I don’t think the bot upgrade made that much of a difference.”

Ashby thought about it. ”You know I’ve been uncertain if I can really pull this off, starting my own tunneling ship with my own crew.”

”Oh yes, I know,” Sissix said, a touch dryly. Oh stars, he had rather gone on about it, hadn’t he?

”I see more purpose to it now,” he told his friend. ”I know it may sound silly, but I feel I could give him something worthwhile, if he wants to join my crew. My species got a second chance after almost destroying ourselves — I feel like if I can help him realize his dreams, I should.”

”It doesn’t sound silly at all,” Sissix said. ”I don’t know why you Humans are always worried your ideas are silly. Or is it an Exodan thing?”

”I don’t know,” Ashby said truthfully. ”But talking to him brought to focus how lucky we were. We could have easily ended up like his species did. I want to give something back to the universe, and maybe through _The Wayfarer_ I can do it.”

”Well, I know that’s an Exodan thing, for sure,” Sissix said, giving him the Aandrisk version of a good-natured smile. ”Trying to atone for crimes committed centuries before you were born.”

”We’re all still the direct result of that evolution.”

”Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re absolutely right,” Sissix said, and put her arms around him, in her casual display of Aandrisk affection. ”Go talk to him. I’d love to have some good food in space. And perhaps, if he says he’ll come, you won’t be able to go back on it anymore.”

 

When Ashby arrived at the clinic again, Dr. Chef looked up in surprise. ”Any problems with your imubots?”

”The bots are fine. I need to talk to you for a moment.”

He told Dr. Chef about being able to offer him a position on a tunneling ship to work both as a doctor and as a chef, as well as tend to the Wayfarer’s garden. His new friend was clearly moved, and hummed a veritable song of pleased sounds. ”How — how wonderful. Do you really mean as _both_ doctor and chef? And gardener?”

”Yes, absolutely.”

”I’ll have to speak to Drave first,” Dr. Chef mused. ”I will be sad to leave him. But this — it has been my dream, to be able to do both of those jobs, in service of this universe of different species.”

”So you accept?”

”Of course I accept.”

Ashby smiled. ”I am honoured to have you among my crew.”

Dr. Chef made a long, melodious sound that left Ashby shivering, his eyes moist. ”To think that after I’ve come all this way, I can have my dream.”

”I know what you mean, my friend,” Ashby said quietly, thinking about a certain spaceship in the port, old and worn but perfectly suited for a tunneling crew.

”Please come to my home tonight,” Dr. Chef asked. ”And bring your pilot friend, if she wishes to come. I shall make food. And I’ll make a Human dessert. I’ve been practicing. I can make you cake, or pie. And we can look at some saplings, and you can tell me which ones would be the most useful aboard.”

Ashby smiled. It looked like the _Wayfarer_ crew’s bodies, minds and spirits were going to be well taken care of.


End file.
